


Everything I Wish For

by Hum My Name (My_Kind_of_Crazy)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Patrick has magic and fucks things up, Romantic Fluff, Snarky Patrick, That's it, Valentine's Day, Wishes, dramatic patrick, that's the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Kind_of_Crazy/pseuds/Hum%20My%20Name
Summary: Wouldn't things just be better if Valentine's Day wasn't real and people didn't have to worry about their crushes having other partners? Patrick thinks things would be better if Valentine's Day wasn't real and he didn't have to worry about his crushes having other partners.The one in which Patrick has magic and fucks things upAlso known as the one in which Patrick makes an entire holiday disappear without meaning to
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50
Collections: Be My Peterick Valentine 2020





	Everything I Wish For

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late but it's done ahhhh let's hope I post this before the collection closes. I'm submitting this in class-- we can pretend that means I'm dedicated but seeing how late this is, I think we all know that isn't true.
> 
> I didn't name this fic until just now. I'm tired, guys. Tired but still here. A Valentine's miracle. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this! As always, thank you so much to everyone who works to put these challenges together, and a huge shoutout to all the magnificent writers taking part! Go read everyone else's stuff, I guarantee that it's all fantastic <3

Patrick gave up caring about school and lessons long before he graduated and got the degrees he needed to make a living. He mostly— entirely— blames the apathy on his brother. It’s much easier to hold his middle finger up to his brother than it is to hold them up to the universe— not that he hasn’t tried.

“Come  _ on _ , Rick,” Kevin says, waving a shiny new spellbook in front of Patrick as if weighing it in his hands. “You need to let me know if you’ve been practicing.”

Patrick’s face scrunches up. “Yes. As I have been every single week of my life.”

If he senses any hostility, Kevin doesn’t let on. “Good.”

Patrick sighs.

It’d be easy, he imagines, to think that having magic is a good thing. Sure, his coffee never gets cold and his clothes are always exactly the right size, but Patrick’s given up on trying to see any sort of silver lining past casual conveniences. Maybe if he could do the bigger stuff— storm clouds and shapeshifting and mind-reading and every other fun spell— he’d enjoy it more, but everyone he’s brought it up to has all but ran off shouting about Patrick wanting to start the apocalypse. Which is entirely unfair— he was only half-serious when he’d said that thing about wanting the world to end.

“Okay, so let’s work on some control exercises, then,” Kevin says, talking over Patrick’s internal lamentations like the pro he is. He sits— criss-cross applesauce— across from Patrick on the floor, his shoes smudging Patrick’s living room carpet with dirt and dust as he shifts into a comfortable position. “We’ll start with breathing. It shouldn’t take more than five minutes.”

Kevin’s eyes shut and his hands rest, palms up, on his knees.

Patrick rolls his eyes and copies the position like it’s totally okay for a full-grown man to be doing kindergarten breathing exercises in his own home. 

He supposes he can’t blame Kevin for any of this— it’s not his fault their parents had taken one look at little over-powered Patrick pushing trees over with his mind at the age of five and decided to rein him in with weekly lessons on restraint. And it’s certainly not his fault that every other teacher walked away looking more dejected than American Idol contestants walking out of the try-out rooms. 

And, okay, sure. Maybe  _ some  _ of it is Patrick’s fault for being over-powered, at all. The magic community is a small, secretive one. He can understand a bit of the worry his family and their friends might have whenever a bit of Patrick’s magic slips free in public. Typically, it’s in the form of lightbulbs brightening as he walks by or guitars tuning themselves when he picks them up, but there’s always the chance that an unharnessed magician— or warlock or sorcerer or wizard, Patrick’s lost track of the terms— can expose them all.

So. Magic lessons. Nearly every week, ever since he dropped a tree branch on his sister’s cat. 

(The cat was fine and, really, he was trying to get it  _ out  _ of the tree. If he’d known it was going to just scurry down the second the whole backyard started shaking, he never would have tried to help.)

“Feel the magic brushing over your skin,” Kevin says in his best Meditation App voice. “Imagine it sinking into your body. Control it. Make it go where you want it to.”

Right now, Patrick would love to make the magic go anywhere  _ but  _ his body. It’s the damn thing’s fault he hasn’t had a free weekend in years.

This year… excluded.

Patrick peeks an eye open at Kevin, who’s still murmuring some shit about magic being in his veins or whatever. His books of magic and spells scatter around him— the after-effects of trying to pick which potion or incantation to teach this time. But next to him, sitting by his keys and phone, is a folded little sticky note. 

A sticky note that— Patrick knows— has a list of stuff Kevin expects Patrick to do while he’s gone. Because, for the first time in Patrick’s life, his caring big brother is going to skip out on a magic lesson.

“Now let the magic gather in your heart,” Kevin says. “Can you feel it pounding in time with your pulse? Distributing across your body with each pump?”

Mostly, Patrick just feels annoyed.

“Um,” he says. “Totally.”

Kevin lets out a breath, but it’s more a sigh than it is any sort of intentional breath.

“Patrick,” he says, slouching and opening his eyes. “You need to take this seriously. Mom’s only letting me skip out on lessons because I promised her you’d be fine for a week.”

“Right. Because you’re a married adult who needs to ask permission to go on a date with your wife on Valentine’s,” Patrick says, leaning back with another exaggerated eye roll.

_ “Patrick— _ ”

“Okay, fine,” Patrick amends. “Permission to go on vacation for Valentine’s. Same thing.”

Kevin groans. Patrick only feels a little bad.

“Whatever,” Kevin says, gathering his books into a pile in front of him. They’re all mostly decorated with hearts and cupids, signs of Kevin’s attempts to give this week’s lesson a theme. “You know, we could have changed these to once a month if  _ someone  _ hadn’t set their garden on fire.”

“It was a cold summer and my carnations were freezing,” Patrick snaps, absolutely aghast that Kevin would try to find any fault in Patrick’s noble attempts at gardening. “I was just trying to keep them from frosting over. It’s not my fault my magic decided to take matters into its own hands.”

Kevin only stares.

Whatever. So maybe he has a point. It’s still not fair for him to treat Patrick like a child. 

“So are we good for the day or do you have any other Valentine’s themed shit to show me?” Patrick asks, pushing up from the floor. 

“Maybe I do,” Kevin says, following Patrick’s lead, placing the books on the couch behind them. Why they can’t ever just use the couch, Patrick doesn’t know. Apparently his brother enjoys back pain and sore asses. “You get your photographer to fall for you yet? Or do you need help making a potion for that?”

“Oh, haha,” Patrick says. “He’s a  _ painter _ . I know you know that, you asshole.”

Kevin’s only reply is a grin and a raised eyebrow. Though he’s the one who called Kevin an asshole, Patrick can’t help but feel as if he’s being more harshly judged. He looks off to some corner— a bit dusty, a spot he missed while vacuuming before Kevin’s appearance— and wills his cheeks not to go red.

If the heat’s anything to go by, this is the one thing his magic can’t do.

“Pete’s probably already got something planned for Valentine’s,” he mutters. “He always does. Every year, there’s always someone new.”

“So maybe this year you should give it a shot,” Kevin suggests, humor fading away into typical older brother advice. “Better than sitting around and waiting for it to happen on its own.”

“Is this your way of suggesting I do make a love potion?” Patrick asks. “Because I don’t think that’ll go over well with mom.”

Kevin doesn’t fall for Patrick’s diversion tactics, laughing lightly to himself as he grabs his phone and keys, leaving the sticky note on the floor for Patrick to collect later.

“I’m just saying that you shouldn’t give up. Not if you still feel so strongly about him,” he says.

Patrick shrugs. “I guess. Whatever. Shouldn’t you be going now?”

Kevin watches him a second more. Patrick shifts guiltily under his gaze, magic pricking at his skin as if asking him if he wants to escape. He shoves the feeling away; last time he gave into that, he’d turned invisible for half a night. Kevin had spent half their phone call cackling at him until he’d finally helped him find a spell to fix it.

“You’re not gonna do anything stupid while I’m gone, right?” Kevin asks, a hand on his hip.

“Like what? Enchant Pete? Reveal my magic and hope it dazzles him?” Patrick shoots back. “If I haven’t done shit like that before, there’s no reason I’d do it now.”

“You were heartbroken before,” Kevin points out, talking over Patrick’s defensive spluttering. “But heartbreak has turned to bitterness. And your worst mistakes happen when you’re bitter.”

“Gee, thanks,” Patrick says. “I give you devil horns  _ once  _ as a kid, and then you never—”

“I’m not talking about that.”

“… I know.”

Because what else could Kevin be talking about? That time he cursed his third-grade bully to a squeaky Mickey Mouse voice during a presentation? That time he turned his ex-girlfriend’s hair a Cheeto shade of orange after she’d publically and mockingly rejected him at the middle school dance?

No. Because, of course, he means that time after high school graduation, when he’d found his boyfriend and his best friend half-dressed and fumbling pathetically for their clothes in the back of Patrick’s car.

And the world hadn’t ended. No one got hurt.

But, for that summer, Patrick’s great plan was to magic up a boyfriend. He had all the personality of a rock but he beamed at Patrick’s jokes and called him cute names and looked just like his favorite book character.

It hadn’t been on purpose— really, he’d just woken up and seen him there, the product of an angry heartbroken subconscious— but he hadn’t done much to stop it, either. Instead, he’d introduced him as his cute Canadian boyfriend visiting for a few months.

And then his mom spilled water on him at a birthday party and he had crumbled in on himself like a piece of paper.

So, horrifying. And not something Patrick would like to experience again.

“One day we’re gonna find out I’m meant to save the world or something, and then you’ll all feel sorry for keeping my powers locked up,” Patrick says once the silence had grown too loud. Kevin clears his throat as if aware of the awkward tension in the air, backing towards the front door.

“I guess you were still young when that happened,” he says, “which is why I’m trusting no disasters are going to happen once I leave.”

They pass banter back and forth as Patrick walks him to the door, scowling now that Pete’s in his mind. Pete, the pretty painter who lives in an apartment a five-minute walk away from Patrick’s house. Pete, with stupid jokes and stupid hair and stupid nicknames for every one of Patrick’s moods. Pete, who Patrick fell in love with the second he saw him smile.

Pete, who calls Patrick his other half, his soulmate, his best friend.

Pete, who never takes a moment to just call Patrick  _ his _ .

As Kevin drives away, off to some romantic utopia with his newlywed wife, Patrick leans against the front door, magic simmering like a threat beneath his skin.

As always, he prays he won’t see Pete this month.

If he does— if his heart is broken another time— he doesn’t know what he or his magic will do.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

As fun as it is to walk around knowing he has magic, the truth is that Patrick’s powers really have no place in a world where things like fantasy are under attack from criticism and cynicism. Patrick used to have dreams of being a magician— the most ironic profession he could think of— but after one too many episodes of Penn & Teller: Fool Us, Patrick’s decided he would much rather prefer not to always act under the watchful eye of audiences waiting for him to fuck up.

Thus, the gardener job instead.

“Do you think I was born in the wrong time period? I think I was born in the wrong time period,” Patrick says, leaning against the counter with his phone in one hand and an ice cube in the other. “I think I was meant to be some feared prophet or evil wizard that knights try and fail to take down. Or at least be someone who does something more than take care of flowers for businesses that shouldn’t plant flowers if they’re not going to take care of them. I mean, really. It’s like having kids.”

“You love flowers, that’s why you’re always comparing them to kids.” Kevin’s exasperation is clear even through the phone. Patrick wonders if he’s using magic to emphasize his irritation. “And you’re changing the subject.”

“And you’re calling when you said you trusted me to be on my own.” Patrick places another ice cube around the stem of his Goo— a tall red flamingo flower thus named for the added O on the seed packaging, a typo that had made Patrick far too gleeful. “This stings, brother. Really, it does.”

“As much as it would sting if we just shunned you like Aunt Jess suggested when you were two?” Kevin shoots back.

“No, that one stings more because, by being an understanding and loving family that ignored her, you robbed me of my tragic backstory,” Patrick says, watching the ice melt. He frowns at it, pushing some magic out to keep it from sinking into the dirt too quickly. “How will I ever be a supervillain now?”

So maybe Patrick complains about his wasted role in life as an over-powered nobody a bit too much. He’s long given up on feeling bad for it.

“To be fair, when you were two, your only crime was levitating your teddy bear to your bed,” Kevin says. “Trust me, if we had known the terror you’d become, you’d totally have your backstory.”

“Touching. Now, seriously, why did you call?” Patrick asks, placing another ice cube down next to the others. Like before, he chills the area around it, toying with the heat in the room to keep them from melting too quickly. It’s a simple spell, one that comes easily to him with no words or incantations. He’s totally got this magic thing down, Kevin’s such a fool for ever worrying that—

“Well, as you know, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day…”

The spell collapses. Heat rushes in at the plant.

The plant catches on fire.

“… and I’m just asking— no,  _ begging _ , for you to be good.”

The flames flicker their way up the flower’s stem, mocking Patrick. If they catch onto the leaves or petals, Patrick’s burning the city down.

“Why on earth would you think I need a reminder to be good?” Patrick only sounds a little frantic. He tosses an ice cube at the flames. It does nothing. “Didn’t Megan, like, tell you it’s bad for my wellbeing for people to pretend I’m not inherently good?”

“Megan seems to believe you do have the workings of a supervillain in you.” Kevin’s empty tone, at least, tells Patrick that he hasn’t noticed anything wrong on Patrick’s side. “I, however, know you’re just an idiot who’ll accidentally cause an earthquake if you see Pete Wentz with a date again.”

Oh, fuck, there go the leaves.

“I’m more of a tornado person, I think.” Or maybe a flood. Or a hurricane. Anything to stop the fire currently consuming Goo. “But, um, if I were to somehow, I don’t know, start a natural disaster…”

“If you start a natural disaster, I’m disowning you,” Kevin says. “And I’ll make mom and dad disown you. And then I’m poisoning you and cutting you off from your magic.”

Patrick winces and even Goo seems to wilt at the harsh tone of Kevin’s words. Or maybe that’s just the plant dying and giving into the flames eating into it. 

“Noted.” He’s tried magic-restraining potions before— it’s not exactly anything he’d like to try again. It had felt like drowning, his soul reaching out for air but failing to find it, like fizzling out beneath ice-cold waves and— “Of, duh, of course.”

Patrick takes his glass of ice water from the counter and tosses it at Goo. 

The fire dies as quickly as it had started.

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Patrick leans forward, inspecting Goo’s leaves and petals. The former are a bit more nonexistent than the latter but it’s nothing a few revival spells won’t fix later tonight. And speaking of tonight… “Hey, so, did you actually have anything important to say? Because I have friends coming over soon and—”

“Is Pete one of them?”

Something bright flickers near the base of Patrick’s burned plant. He stares the spark down until it goes away.

“No, actually, it’s me and my other single friends,” he says, turning his back to the plant once he’s certain it won’t catch fire again. “We’re going to a few bars to lament our woes. And, yes, I’ve gone drinking with them before. No one got hurt.”

“I don’t know how comfortable I am with that,” Kevin says. “But I also recognize that you’re a grown adult and I can’t do anything to control you if you want to go drinking for a night.”

Patrick blinks in shock. “Really? Wow, Kev, thanks, that’s—”

“And I also recognize that I will be states away on a beach that will most certainly be out of the blast zone of whatever the hell ends up happening.”

Of course. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Patrick hangs up on Kevin before any more barbs can be shot through the phone, and he’s rewarded with a quick rapping on his door. A brief glance at the time eases any frustration he might have felt at Kevin’s lack of faith. Now, he has nothing to focus on but drinking and laughing with friends.

“Hey, guys, hi, I—”

“Hey, Trick!”

Pete waves from between Andy and Joe.

The aloe vera plant by the front door begins to smoke.

“Oh, uh, hi.” Patrick waves back. Awkwardly.

Look, he may joke about being some grand character but he’s never said his plotline included an easy romance. He’s not really the dramatic love interest type; Pete, on the other hand, seems determined to be exactly that. Give or take some extra dramatics.

Pete smiles directly at Patrick, leaning back with his hands falling into the pockets of those dark jeans Patrick likes on him so much. Almost as much as he likes the way Pete’s eyes are glimmering at him now. Who needs magic when Pete naturally has eyes like  _ that _ ?

Oh, the aloe vera plant is definitely smoking.

“Hey, Patrick!” Joe steps forward, arms spread wide enough for Patrick to know that Pete’s presence is his fault. Patrick works very hard to keep the smoke and budding flames from transferring to his friend. “You ready for tonight?”

“Yeah, I—” Patrick peels his eyes away from Pete. “Yeah?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot.” Joe leans forward a bit, winking in a way that makes Patrick feel a little gross. “Single’s drinking night is a tradition for us. And we’re initiating Pete into it tonight.”

“Right, and—”

Oh.  _ Oh. _

Joe’s simper suddenly makes a lot more sense. Patrick’s cheeks warm with something that feels a lot like the hope he squashed down a long time ago.

Pete’s joining for single’s drinking night. Pete’s  _ single _ .

Something entirely overenthusiastic and entirely unnecessary washes over Patrick’s entire body. At least the aloe vera fire goes out.

As Patrick grins and steps outside, it’s not magic invading his mind or heart or soul or body— it’s something hotter, something more alive. He barely feels his magic at all as he walks side by side with Pete down the street.

He barely feels anything other than the certainty that, for once, Valentine’s will go well.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

So, maybe, possibly, potentially, Patrick has had a bit more to drink than he originally would have liked. Somehow, somewhere between the last drink and the one currently in his hand, he’s lost feeling of his fingers and toes.

He’s sure it’s fine. And, from the way his magic curls warmly in his gut, he’s sure it agrees, too.

“— fell over like a line of dominos in a viral Facebook video,” Pete says, finishing an anecdote Patrick’s already forgetting. Still, he laughs louder than he should, something about tonight making him let go of his typical reservations.

Or maybe that’s the drink in his hand. He’s been blaming that for the way he’s been smiling at Pete nonstop, too.

It’s easy, though, to laugh with Pete and to smile shamelessly when Pete laughs and smiles back, eyes crinkling and shining with each second that passes.

“That’s nothing compared to Patrick’s banana cat story,” Joe says, leaning over so suddenly half his drink spills down the side of the glass. “Patrick, tell him your banana cat story.”

Ah, yes. The age-old tale of turning a neighbor’s cat bright yellow because he thought it would help him see the cat better if she started rummaging through the garden again. To be fair, he thought the cat was a stray and he hadn’t anticipated having to pretend he’d taken the time to actually dye the thing.

“That’s a story for another night,” Patrick says, shaking his head at the memory of his neighbor’s scolding. She’d found the humor in it. Eventually. Some time after Patrick managed to turn the cat back to its grey-brown tint. “Maybe if Pete came drinking with us more often, he’d know all about banana cat and other shenanigans.”

“It’s not my fault that I’ve had a date for Valentine’s every year,” Pete says.

Andy snorts, the only sober one among them, and sets his phone down. He usually spends these nights texting his work, something about needing to be aware if he needs to be called in, but Patrick and Joe have this theory that he’s actually filming them in their poor drunken state.

“There are a lot of things that are your fault, but saying yes to anybody who invites you anywhere on Valentine’s Day is probably one of the more obvious ones,” Andy says. It’s phrased like a joke but Patrick still downs half his drink, hoping no one will notice the way his grip on the glass has tightened just enough to keep him from shaking. He and his friends have tried analyzing why Pete’s so quick to say yes to dates but so slow to notice Patrick’s affections. It’s not a conversation he’d like to repeat in Pete’s presence.

Thankfully, Pete simply shakes his head. “Then I guess this year will be something to celebrate. The great Pete Wentz, finally alone on Valentine’s Day.”

Patrick’s heart twists in on itself as if physically trying to mimic the shape sold on cards and balloons. That, or it’s caving in from sheer dread.

“Not so quick, my friend,” Joe says, slinging an arm over Pete’s shoulders and fulfilling Patrick's fears. “It’s not Valentine’s Day yet.”

Patrick narrows his eyes at Joe. Joe pushes on, ignoring the glare.

“It may be late, but Valentine’s is still a few hours away,” Joe continues. “We’ve all still got time to find a date.”

Joe gives a meaningful look at Patrick's direction. Meaningful and painfully obvious. Patrick’s going to smite him, magical secret be damned.

But Pete— ever so wonderfully oblivious Pete— simply frowns. “What do you—”

“I’m gonna go call that girl from work.” Joe jumps up from his seat, nearly falling over as he stumbles to the side. He waves his phone around in the air that way one might try to wave down a taxi. “Just to prove that anyone can get a Valentine’s partner the day before, I’m gonna finally call her and ask her out.”

“You’re gonna call her and make a fool of yourself,” Andy says, setting his phone back down on the bar. He looks at Joe the way one may look at a toddler playing with something sharp. “Sit back down before you hurt yourself.”

“Andy.” Joe looks back at Andy as if he’s an old man asking how the google works. “I’m going to go outside and ask her out. It might take a while. In fact, it’s going to take exactly the amount of time it would take anyone to ask someone out for Valentine’s Day.”

“What on earth are you—” Either by divine intervention or the unsubtle nodding of Joe’s head, Andy finally catches on. He lurches out of his own chair, falling into Joe as if he’s been the drunken one all along. “I should come with you. Make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

Good God, Patrick’s surrounded by idiots.

But, they’re idiots who mean well. Joe and Andy all but run out of the bar, tugging at each other’s arms and failing in their attempts not to turn back and stare as Patrick’s eyes refocus on Pete.

Pete. Smiling with the vaguest hint of confusion, a warm color on his cheeks from the drinks staining his lips— Pete.

“They’re crazy,” he says, turning back towards Patrick as if his presence isn’t like a million suns blazing up Patrick’s entire being. “But a fun kind of crazy. I like it.”

_ I like you _ — If Patrick were a denser man, he’d blurt out something ridiculous and embarrassing.

So, of course, instead, he nods and takes a drink.

If there’s anything awkward about his lack of response, Pete doesn’t let on. He jumps into another story— one that seems to be about bats and tattoos— and Patrick watches him with all the fondness of a rom-com lead realizing they’re in love.

Of course, Patrick’s known for a while that he’s in love. No sudden realization necessary.

The necessity, then, is finding out how to say it.

Magic and alcohol twist together in his stomach, heat and sparkles crashing into each other as his mouth dries and his mind gives up on words entirely. Both are as unhelpful as always.

God, but what does he say? Does he place it lightly between them, a suggestion or a business card, face pink and warm as he shrugs and offers his time tomorrow? Does he let it burst through the hollow conversation they’re sharing now— grand words and grander actions, magic bold and bright as fireworks as he asks Pete to kiss him? Or is there something he’s missing, something in between? Something human and gentle but still so real, still so great, still so impossible to say?

His heart thuds uneasily in his chest. His vision swims only to bring Pete in with a clarity that burns. 

Still, he prefers the burn to the ice that wraps around his heart when Pete’s phone and face light up.

“Wait, dude, Colin just texted,” Pete says, his attention on his screen as he pulls open his messages and smiles with all the brilliance of a star. 

“You think…” Patrick shakes his head, trying to clear out the fog and confusion pressing into his brain. “Who?”

“Colin! You know, the model for that piece I did a bit ago? Dark hair, weird eyes?” Pete says, eyes reflecting the blue light of messages and texts. Like a suicidal moth, Patrick leans closer towards it; he imagines he can feel something electric snapping against his skin when he spots the heart emojis and exclamation points in the texts. “I invited him to my art thing tomorrow. I mean, it was a formality because he’s in a few of the paintings, but I think I might actually have a shot with this guy.”

Colin— No, Patrick doesn’t remember any Colin. None of what Pete’s saying rings any bells— other than the art show, of course, because that had been Patrick’s main plan. Ask Pete to dinner as a celebration for the showing— a small thing happening in a cute pavilion in the park— and then walk over together, laughing and smiling and possibly holding hands. And Pete would ask Patrick’s opinion on his art show theme— Valentine’s Day, his favorite inspiration— and Patrick would blush and admit his love for Pete, would reassure him that he’s perfect, would lean in and kiss him and—

“— a date, kind of,” Pete’s saying. Though it’s only half a sentence, it cuts through to Patrick’s heart like something sharp and cruel, something laced in more treacherous things than Pete’s happy tone. “You have to come meet him— I think you two would really get along. He’s funny and he’s into your type of music, too, and, well, we’re probably going to meet up at five and then head that way, so if you wanted—”

Patrick can’t tell whether his heart is beating too fast or if it’s given up on beating at all. His magic doesn’t feel attached to him so much as it feels like a weapon fitting neatly against his palms— like vile words forming in the back of his throat.

He swallows spells and curses down, reaching for Pete’s wrist and commending himself when Pete doesn’t turn into a frog at the touch.

“Pete, slow down,” he says, his grip tightening only to loosen again. Calm. Gentle. Deep breaths— that’s what Kevin would say, right? “What the hell are you talking about?”

Okay. So, maybe that wasn’t the calmest he could have been. Still, nothing’s on fire and he counts that as a win.

Until Pete tugs his hand away and faces Patrick with an aching grin. “I think Colin’s going to be my Valentine’s date tomorrow.”

Patrick only just has the awareness to grasp the edges of his magic, tugging it inwards before it could all come bursting out. It caves in on his bones, invisible forces whipping at his cheeks and throat as he pulls back from Pete, stomach twisting so violently he’s sure he’ll be sick. His magic is a creature and he’s simply holding the leash, knuckles white as he forms fists against the bar.

If he doesn’t leave now— if he doesn’t get away from Pete— this creature will escape. Something wild and feral will be let loose.

Patrick stumbles— falls, jumps— from his seat. The ground feels like water beneath him; his knees threaten to give out.

“You should come if you’re free. Invite a friend or— Hey, are you okay?” And it’s only now that Pete seems to realize the shade of pale Patrick’s become. Only now that he’s opened his eyes only to narrow them in worry Patrick can barely comprehend.

But, still, he sits there as if Patrick’s merely drunk— sick and tripping over his own feet. As if it isn’t taking every bit of Patrick’s power to keep his own magic inside him. As if magic isn’t roaring and rushing against his skin like veins wishing to burst.

As if there aren’t already cracks tracing down the center of the windows by the front door.

“I’m—” A fool. A broken-hearted idiot. “I’ll be back.”

It’s a lie but he can’t bring himself to care.

Pete’s standing, too, though. He’s on his feet and his hands are hovering, unsure what to do.

Patrick steps away. Patrick turns his back.

“Patrick?”

Oh, fuck no. Patrick can accept that Pete won’t ever see him in the same way. He can live with this pain, no matter the way his ribs and heart cave in.

But he can’t stand here as Pete says his name so softly, so gently, so fucking tenderly and kind.

He’s moving before he realizes he’s made the decision to go, Andy and Joe trying to say his name as he passes them on the way out. He doesn’t know whether it’s air or magic brushing his face, so quickly he’s walking.

But what he does know is that he’s made a mistake by coming out here with Pete. He’s made a mistake by believing this year would be any different than the rest.

It’s only once he’s lost the sound of his friends calling his name that he stops, turning to hit a wall.

His fist barely feels the brick. Still, it cracks beneath his touch.

No matter. It can match the same devastation happening in his heart.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Running home is inevitable and cliche so Patrick hides out in another bar instead, pressed into a corner with alcohol and magic still warring in his veins. It’d be easy to make this his go-to hobby now— hanging out in the shadows with drunken superpowers poking at his skin. It’s another cliche but, hey, he’s never claimed to hate those.

What he does hate, however, is the number of texts lighting up his phone.

He’d responded to the first batch about an hour ago, letting his friends know that he’s fine— just sick, just drunk, just stupidly overestimating his ability to survive the night. Joe had followed up, asking if he was alright; Pete had done the same, wondering if Patrick needed a friend for the night.

Patrick gave up on answering after that. He’d shut his phone off entirely but the notifications keep him from going entirely off the deep end. At the end of the day, he still has friends. If he remembers that, maybe he won’t summon the apocalypse.

The universe makes it hard to remember, though, why the end of the world would be such a bad idea. Though he’s hiding in a corner, he can’t help but feel as if he’s standing naked before a group of strangers. Couple spare glances at him as they walk past; singles try to smile the same pitying gaze. He’s the one with the powers but it’s somehow as if they’re all seeing straight to his heartbroken thoughts.

It sucks.

Magic weaves through his fingers with a soft golden glow, sparking beneath the dim bar lights. Figure eights and circles linger in the air, and Patrick watches the action with a sigh. It’s a habit he’s never grown out of— letting his magic dance around so visibly— but no one’s really watching him so much as they’re glancing at him. And it’s not like they don’t all have better things to talk about.

Like Valentine’s Day. Because, of course, everyone’s talking about Valentine’s Day. With each lovey-dovey exchange he hears, Patrick feels more and more undressed; still, at the same time, he feels just as invisible.

“I hate this,” he mutters to his drink, the beer long gone warm. “I’m never falling in love again.”

He’d meant to do something dramatic, like swallow down the rest of his beer or let his magic explode a few lights, but he’s interrupted by a man laughing and sliding into the seat across from him.

“Strong words,” the man says. His voice is light, playing in the space between teasing and flirting. “And here I haven’t even got a chance to change your mind.”

Patrick keeps his eyes averted, pulling back just enough to show his disinterest. 

The stranger leans forward, arms crossed over the table, clearly not receiving the hint.

“Yeah, I’m not really in the mood for a conversation now,” Patrick says to the man’s right elbow. “But I appreciate your boldness. Go you, I guess.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise that the stranger laughs, but the sound still has Patrick’s eyes jerking up to catch on the corner of an intrigued smile.

“I’ll go away if you really want me to,” he says, still managing to lean closer despite his words. “But wouldn’t you rather pour out your heart about whatever it is that’s bothering you so that you can properly get it over with and move on?”

Straightforward. Patrick doesn’t know whether he likes it or not.

“There’s really nothing much to tell,” Patrick says, even as he sighs and prepares to divulge all the secrets of his latest heartbreak. “Basically, I keep making the mistake of hoping this guy I like will one day magically like me back.”

“I’m sorry.” Somehow, the man seems to mean it. Regret seeps into his tone, resting beside consolation. 

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, looking back down at his fingers. “I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself.”

“I wish I had an answer for you but, honestly, I don’t know, either,” the man says. “But what I do know is that, maybe, this person just isn’t the right one. Maybe there’s another match out there just waiting to be found.”

God, speak of cliches. 

If this was any other night, Patrick would laugh the guy off without meaning to. He’d snort or he’d scoff or he’d say something about not falling for those rom-com lines. Any other night, he’d walk away.

But, tonight, his chest feels empty and aching. Tonight, each breath aches. Tonight, he’s drunk and alone and waiting for something to just go right.

Tonight, he leans in and he smiles.

“Why are you here?” Patrick asks, his words slurred. The man across from him doesn’t seem to notice.

“Because you look like someone I should get to know,” he says. “And because you’re someone who deserves better than the mess you’ve had.”

This guy’s a stranger but he speaks with a fondness Patrick’s been desperate to feel. He reaches his hand across the table, smiling a smile that’s almost familiar. 

And Patrick smiles back. He waits for the right words to come to his lips— or, perhaps, he won’t need words at all. Because this stranger’s looking at him like he actually sees him. He’s waiting and he’s watching and he’s—

Patrick blinks. It’s only for a moment.

But the stranger’s edges fizzle with a golden sheen. His eyes are nothing but sparks.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Patrick jumps up at the same moment his perfect stranger disappears— gone the second Patrick’s magic is pulled back in, shamefully rolling through his blood as if apologizing for conjuring someone to flirt with. Is this all Patrick’s going to get? Is this all he’s going to have? Made up lovers and magic strangers?

“I fucking hate this!”

People are staring now, and workers are at Patrick’s side— trying to calm him down, trying to escort him out without making too much of a scene. 

On the table, his glass trembles. Once, he might have cared; now, though, having his secret found out is the least of his worries.

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate it all!” Patrick ignores the hot tears sticking to his cheeks. He ignores the hands at his shoulders, pulling him towards the door as he lashes out and screams. “I hate this fucking holiday. I wish it didn’t exist.”

Patrick’s happy to keep shouting and letting his magic pull at the world around him. He’s happy to pretend that there’s no consequence to this.

But he screams those last words and then everything burns with the shade of gold.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

“Patrick? Patrick, you good?”

Patrick sees bedroom lights before he’s fully opened his eyes, his head heavy and his tongue too big for his mouth. 

“Wha—?” He shakes his head— a bad idea, the consequences immediate and in the shape of his brain banging against his skull. Still, he forces his eyes open and tries to sit. “What’s going—”

“Hey.” That voice is back— familiar and warm and a touch concerned. Pete leans forward, a hand on Patrick’s shoulder and easing him back down into the bed. “You should probably take it slow. You said something about being sick last night, and I’m sure drinking for a few hours didn’t help.”

“Sick? Last night?” Patrick’s face scrunches up as he tries to remember what on earth Pete’s talking about. The sick theory doesn’t seem too far off if the rolling of his stomach is anything to go by, but the drinking can’t be true. He’s spent longer at the bars with Joe and Andy before and he’s never felt so entirely drained like this. “

“Yeah,” Pete says, turning towards the nightstand to set down a few pills he’d carried in. “I got you some Aspirin and water if that helps. I’d probably take that and get some sleep if you can.”

It’s been a long time since Patrick’s felt so coddled, and he’d love the chance to appreciate it, but something tugs relentlessly on the edges of his mind, refusing to let him rest.

Despite nausea wrapped around his stomach and throat, he sits back up. Pete frowns.

“I’m not joking. You should sleep last night off and—”

And last night. Drinking with Joe and Andy and Pete. Laughing and feeling warm.

Going cold the second Pete’s smile shifted into something new, something wrapped around someone else’s name.

“Oh my god.” It’s breath through Patrick’s lips, a soft exclamation as he forgets all about hangovers and heartaches and reaches for Pete’s arm. “Last night, I—”

Last night, his magic created someone to care for him, someone to smile at him. Last night, his magic was a monster and Patrick doesn’t know how he’ll survive if this Pete beside him is nothing but an illusion, too.

“Pete, are you—” He wants to ask if he’s real but the word sticks to the roof of his mouth, too terrible to make it the rest of the way through.

But Pete’s edges are solid. His eyes remain the same soft brown shade.

“I’m alright staying here with you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Pete says, sitting on the edge of the bed with Patrick’s hand still resting on his wrist. “Joe called me after you called him. He said you might need someone to stay with you.”

Right, Joe. Sitting on the curb with his phone nearly falling out of his shaking hands, Patrick had called him and cried about how stupid this whole holiday was. Joe had driven him home, scolding him about running off but still patting him on the shoulder when Patrick started to fall asleep in his car. 

Joe had been the one to walk him inside, to get him in bed. 

But Pete’s the one here, now. The one watching him with a waiting smile, the one who looks like he has nowhere else to go.

Pete— the one who so excitedly shared his plans for Valentine’s Day with a model Patrick’s never met.

Patrick doesn’t want to ask. The words, though, fill his mouth before he can wonder why they’re there.

“You’re going to spend the day here?” Patrick asks, almost embarrassed at how soft his voice is. “With me?”

Pete’s eyebrows furrow together but Patrick’s more focused on the quick nod he gives.

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” he says, standing with a little confused grin on his lips. It’s adorable. “I want to make sure you’re okay, after all.”

Patrick’s heart beats a bit too quickly, his body all at once enervated and exhausted as if the realization of Pete’s presence was enough to drain whatever was left of his energy. 

Magic presses close to him, nearly an embrace as Pete turns with another quick smile. Patrick grins back, ignoring the prickles of something more in his subconscious.

It’s easier to close his eyes and revel in the warmth that is spending Valentine’s Day with the person he loves.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

Whatever happened to convince Pete that spending Valentine’s with Patrick is a good idea is something Patrick’s only barely coping with. When he wakes a second time, he nearly expects the realization to have been another dream or cruel illusion. 

Yet, when he wanders out of his room and into the kitchen, Pete’s there, sipping coffee and scrolling through his phone. Patrick waits in the doorway, watching Pete’s shadow on the countertop— his countertop. On Valentine’s Day.

It’s more than a bit surreal.

“Hey.” Pete turns, eyes bright and smile fixed on his face. “Feeling better?”

“Yep,” Patrick says. Pete doesn’t need to know about the few spells muttered under Patrick’s breath before crawling out of bed— spells meant to shove his headache and sore throat away. 

It’d taken a bit to get the spells right, though. The fancy words felt wrong, distorted; his magic felt hollow, as drained as him.

It’s… probably nothing to worry about.

Really, though, he’d had time after the initial panic to reason out why his magic keeps slipping away at the last second. It could be that he drank too much and it’s the sorcerer version of a hangover. Or he scared it away with his outbursts at the illusion last night. Hell, he’s even willing to assume that missing his weekly magic meeting with Kevin has thrown him off. Either way, he’s, like, 98% sure that it’s fine.

Which means that he’s 100% sure that there’s nothing wrong with properly celebrating Valentine’s Day.

“That’s good,” Pete says, setting his phone down. “But let me know if you need me to run out and get any medicine if you start feeling down again.”

“Yeah, sure, but, uh…” Patrick shuffles a bit in place, uneasiness filling his throat before his words have a chance. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to get dinner tonight? Maybe we can go somewhere nice before your art thing?”

Pete turns fully towards Patrick, though he absently plays with the leaves of Goo— singe-free and just as lush as before. Patrick’s nose wrinkles at the sight. Maybe his magic’s so exhausted because it spent all night fixing houseplants.

“I wouldn’t say no to dinner,” Pete says with a small twist in his smile— something that makes Patrick’s heart pause to catch its breath. “But what thing are you talking about? I haven’t had an exhibition planned in months. No inspiration, remember?”

After surviving the heart-stopping fear when Pete said  _ but,  _ Patrick takes a while to fully understand what Pete’s saying.

“What?” He asks. “No, you totally have something planned. I distinctly remember you failing to shut up about it when you first realized you’ve never done a lovey-dovey cliche theme. Unless you dropped the Valentine’s idea but, well, it’s a bit late to do that and—”

Patrick stops when Pete blinks dramatically at him.

“I don’t think you’re as okay as you initially said you were,” he says slowly, as if realizing Patrick’s crazy. “Do you want to take another nap and see if things make sense in the morning?”

“Do you want to walk down to the store and see if the candy hearts and rose bouquets jog your memory?” Patrick asks, eyebrow raised. “Come on, you love this holiday. I usually hate it but— oh my fucking god.”

The world flips upside down. Or maybe that’s just Patrick’s nausea returning with a sudden vengeance.

Either way, his head spins and he turns to look at the calendar pinned to the wall so quickly he nearly falls.

February 14— the date’s still there.

The little sub-script exclaiming  _ Valentine’s Day _ , however, is not.

Patrick’s throat tightens and he barely hears Pete as he runs back to his bedroom, slamming his door open and finding his phone. His fingers trip over the screen as he searches for a holiday he knows is real— a holiday he knows he hates, a holiday he really hopes he didn’t curse and…

Nothing shows up. Google doesn’t even try to give him an alternative, so certain he’s simply key-smashed something into the search bar.

For a long moment, Patrick’s not so sure he knows how to breathe.

Okay. So maybe he made the holiday disappear. That sounds sort of like something Kevin asked him not to do.

But there’s a way to fix it, right? In the books Kevin brought over— books about curses and love spells and all things hearts and Valentine’s and—

Patrick shuts his eyes before looking at his bookcase. Because, of course, no Valentine's Day means no special Valentine’s spells or books.

He feels a bit more screwed by the second.

In the few seconds that follow, Patrick reaches for his magic; again, it slips away, angry and exhausted— and, yeah, he supposes he can’t blame it for being tired if it was used to destroy a fucking holiday. His head burns and his body warms as he tries to grab hold of it, again and again, the golden light behind his eyes spinning in sluggish circles when he whispers spells meant to wake it up. But where there was once energy and passion, there’s only distress and the small sense of something gone wrong.

“Come on,” Patrick urges anyway, shutting his eyes tight and finally feeling a spark in his blood, a connection with the magic that’s usually so close to him. “Okay, now, I wish Valentine’s Day was back.”

It’s a simple thing to say and, for a moment, he feels his magic expand to fill the room, warm and humming and full of promise that everything will be okay and—

And then it snaps back at him like a rubber band, complete with the painful sting of retaliation on his cheeks.

“Fuck!” Patrick trips backward, eyes opening to glare at his magic before giving in and falling back.

He doesn’t meet the ground, though, Instead, his back runs into a solid chest, warm hands catching him by the elbows.

“Dude,” Pete says. Patrick’s never before heard that word said with such tender concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Is everything okay?” Patrick asks sarcastically, pulling free and rubbing at his face in an attempt to make the pain from his magic’s slap go away. “I don’t know, it’s only the most romantic day of the year and you’re here instead of with—”

Patrick stops.

This suddenly doesn’t feel like such a problem anymore.

“Instead of…?” Pete tries to get Patrick to continue but Patrick simply stares at Pete, his face hot from something other than pain.

If Patrick’s the only one who knows it’s Valentine’s, that doesn’t mean it’s not Valentine’s. He still knows that it’s a day meant to be shared by lovers and couples doing cute lover’s and couple’s things. He still knows what he wanted this day to be like, and he can still make that happen.

“Sorry, I just forgot something.” Ironic, but Pete seems to go with Patrick’s excuse. “Things were a bit weird when I woke up but it’s better now.”

Pete’s head is still tilted to the side, his eyes still slightly narrowed. Despite this, he nods.

“You were pretty out of it,” he says. “Now, what were you saying about getting dinner?”

Patrick smiles.

The world seems a bit brighter; Pete’s voice sounds a bit sweeter.

And— once he’s shoved his guilt to the furthest corners of his mind— Patrick’s life seems a bit happier.

Everything’s going to be okay.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

So here’s the thing.

Everything is pretty far from  _ okay _ .

Oh, sure, the weather’s warm and Pete’s at his side and he can feel his magic start to restore itself— but Patrick still can’t shake the feeling that things are wrong.

It’s rather annoying, honestly. How much importance can one stupid holiday have?

Well, perhaps that’s the point. It’s a stupid cheesy holiday and this is the one time Patrick truly wants to do those stupid cheesy things. 

For example, when he sat on the couch next to Pete and searched for one of those rom-coms that would let them cuddle up and laugh, he found the channels lacking. There were no themed TV marathons— other than Lord of the Rings, which had been tempting but not tempting enough.

Or like when he pulled out his phone to search for any events the local restaurants are putting on. There’s a pizza place nearby that usually has no problem going for every cliche— red tablecloths, roses in vases, candlelit dinners by request— but all he finds are karaoke nights and coupon codes.

Even the store aisles— Patrick discovered once he and Pete left the house in search of dinner— are dreadfully plain. Patrick has never been so upset to see a lack of oversized teddy bears in his life.

Now, as he and Pete walk down sidewalks free from strings of lights or sappy music seeping out from stores or shops, Patrick tries not to notice the lack of magic, not only in him but in the air around him. People crowd around them as they walk, faces tense and hands unheld— everyone just a bit more disconnected than they might have otherwise been. It all stares back at Patrick with an accusing focus, bubbling under his skin with guilt and shame.

It’s a feeling that worsens whenever he glances at Pete. Though Pete’s smiling and making jokes, he doesn’t wander around with the same freedom or joy he typically does when it’s near Valentine’s Day. His light, his favorite thing, has been taken away.

Patrick stares at his shoes. 

It’s still technically Valentine’s Day, right? Even if no one else remembers? Even if there’s no sign of it? Patrick knows and he can celebrate it, and he can do that with Pete.

Right?

It doesn’t feel right.

“Maybe I can do a Halloween theme again,” Pete says, still talking about art ideas after Patrick brought it up earlier. “The holiday themes always get a lot of attention. I’m just running out of things to celebrate, I guess.”

Though he says it with a laugh, Patrick cringes.

In his mind, he can see the paintings Pete had done, the lovely rose-red shades he’d chosen to highlight each piece of art he’d scattered around his studio. Patrick had visited once, staring in awe at how easily Pete had captured the Valentine’s spirit in his work— hearts sticking to sleeves, smiles curved like petals, hands kept safe and warm in others, eyes shimmering with light that can only come from looking at the one they love.

All those paintings, all that work… Gone?

Patrick’s magic— warmer than before, acting up beneath his skin— could bring it back. He could snap his fingers and make this day just a bit better than it is. God, he could do so many things. Turn the lights pink or spill soft music into the air; scatter flowers at their feet or brighten up the empty store aisles. He could bring Valentine’s back without following through. He can make the night perfect without having to give Pete up.

Magic swells within him. It’d be easy— no spells required. 

He could make things better.

But then he turns his head towards the park they’re passing, past the thread of shops along the street.

He turns and he stops. And he sees the place where Pete’s art was supposed to be.

It’s a small pavilion, cute and rustic-styled, almost a cottage or shed if it wasn’t so big. People typically rent it for parties or celebrations.

Patrick had been there when Pete had rented it for his show.

_ “It needs to feel like a place you’d want to have a cute first date,”  _ Pete had said, smiling at the potential the wood and grass held. “ _ This place is perfect _ .”

But now it’s empty, and Pete looks at it like he’s seeing it for the first time.

“Wow,” he says. “That could be a great spot for a future exhibition.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, voice soft. “It could.”

And it still could be, if he lets his magic loose. How easy it would be to let go of the growing magic— still a bit tender from its overuse, but thrumming and ready to be used again. A blink of his eyes and he can spin it around the park before Pete could say another word. He could fulfill the wish without worry about it going wrong.

Magic fills him; thinking of the wish is as good as saying it aloud. It presses close against him, a breeze only he can feel. His skin tickles beneath its touch— he can taste it, hear it, see it in all its golden sheen. And, through it, he can see the paintings hanging on the walls, held up to be seen and loved the way they should. Little lights and crowded tables, a bar in the corner where people could gather and marvel at Pete’s talent. 

Patrick could make it real. Patrick could bring it here and he wouldn’t have to give anything up.

He can do it.

Then, Pete sighs.

“Of course, I have to find the right theme, first,” he says. It’s another light statement, another thing meant to mean nothing more. But it’s still another jab at Patrick’s heart, even as he turns with smiling eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to have any ideas, right?”

“Well.” Patrick pauses. Mouth dry, hands shaking. Body cold. “I’ll actually be right back.”

Pete doesn’t question it as Patrick makes his escape, slipping through crowds and alleys to find a path to the pavilion. He’s hidden in the shadows, safe.

His magic, though, glows behind his eyes.

“I’m probably not going to regret this. Probably.” 

Patrick shuts his eyes softly, light still fluttering against his vision. He doesn’t smile but he doesn’t frown, either, focusing only on the rush of magic in his veins.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Kevin would be so proud.

It helps ease the trembling in his hands, though, as his fingers fold down into loose fists. It helps him to lift his chin with confidence, to open his eyes and face the sky above.

“I bring it back,” he whispers. Lights spark behind his eyes, bright enough for him to shut them again. “I wish to bring Valentine’s back.”

What happens next is hard, fast. It hurts just as much as the knowledge that doing this will tear Pete away from his side.

This time, he can feel his magic ripping free from his bones, tearing out into the world to reshape reality back into what it was. He can feel each tendril of tender light heating in his veins, burns passing over his skin without leaving a mark. He can feel his heart dare to stop from the mere enormity of his wish.

And then he feels the world twist, like being set right side up. He can feel something— his magic, himself— give a sigh of relief.

Patrick opens his mouth to speak— to call out or give some witty remark— but exhaustion drags him down. His eyes remain shut.

All he feels is that golden light.

<><><> <><><> <><><>

When Patrick opens his eyes again, the lights have changed.

They’re twinkling, strands of fairy lights hanging from distant stores and pavilion walls. The world is painted in roses and pinks, as soft as petals touching the ground. People walk by with presents in their hands, humming love songs like this is all the world is meant to be.

Patrick stands slowly, back aching from where he’d been pressed against the side of the pavilion. Though he can’t remember making any sound, he must cry out. 

“Hey, it’s okay, let’s just get you back to your feet.”

Pete’s there beside him, his hands at Patrick’s arms as he guides him up. His eyes are wide, always on Patrick, and his fingers reach for the back of Patrick’s head, testing for a wound as he hushes and whispers to Patrick.

“Did you fall?” He asks, quietly concerned. “Did someone hit you?”

“No, I just— I fell asleep.” Patrick pulls back from Pete, lamenting the loss of his touch but knowing he doesn’t have a right to it anymore. He feels the ache as strongly as he feels his magic— quietly resting, but just as present as always. “What’s happening?”

“My art show’s happening, remember?” Pete says with a quirky grin, his eyes a bit distant as he shakes his head. “Don’t worry, though, if you forgot. I totally didn’t realize what day it was until I got here. Thank goodness I had time to set everything up.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says. That would explain the music and the lights. “It is Valentine’s Day, right?”

“Right.” Pete’s grin sharpens but only because he’s holding back a laugh that Patrick feels in his own throat. “It’s not like you to forget your holidays, Patrick. Having an off day?”

“The most off day ever.” Patrick laughs, letting Pete steady him with a hand on his shoulder as he sways. 

“Well, you’re not the only one,” Pete says. “I know I can suck at remembering things but I’m typically never late to my own shows.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” It’s instinct but even Patrick recoils at the strangeness of the statement. “Wait, I mean—”

“No, it’s fine,” Pete says, as if anything Patrick just said made sense. “I liked spending the day with you.”

“What?” How else is Patrick supposed to respond to that?

“You know, hanging out to make sure you were okay. Planning to get dinner.” Pete shrugs. “I enjoyed it.”

There’s no way he means that. Patrick pokes at his magic, ignoring the warning heat he receives in response. If this is another illusion, he’s getting rid of the universe entirely.

“But… But that was selfish of me,” Patrick sputters, too exhausted and confused to filter his words. “I did that— uh, kept you with me, I mean— because I was jealous of you having a date. I…” Oh, okay, fuck, apparently he was going this now. “I like you. A lot. And I wanted to spend a Valentine’s with you so I conveniently forgot it and didn’t remind you because I knew you’d leave. You have other dates and other people and I just didn’t want to be alone.”

It’s more or less the truth. Patrick considers it fair enough because it’s just as painful to say, if not more so.

“I’m sorry.”

Patrick’s head jerks up, surprised to hear that phrase in any voice other than his own.

“You’re… Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry,” Pete says, somehow managing a pinkish blush as he looks back at Patrick. “I only ever get dates to make you jealous— which is shitty and unfair— but you’re so good at seeming unbothered that I figured you just weren’t interested. If I had known that it was making you feel bad… feel alone… Well, I guess I would have asked you to be my Valentine’s a lot sooner.”

Patrick stands frozen before Pete, jaw dropped enough that he’s a bit embarrassed by it. 

His eyes check behind Pete. His eyes check their surrounding areas.

There’s no other Pete running around, checking on his show. There’s nothing and no one to say this is an illusion.

There’s nothing because this is real.

“Why on earth would you think making me jealous is a good idea?” Patrick’s cheeks burn. He almost wishes it would be because of his magic. Pausing time so he could scream and properly react to this would be more than a bit appreciated.

Pete’s shrug is more subdued this time, as bashful as Patrick feels. “You never said anything.”

“Well, I guess I’m saying something now.” God, Patrick’s heart hurts from his fast it’s beating. But it’s a good hurt, a hurt like warmth and tension unwinding from a muscle. “I like you, Pete Wentz. And do you…?”

Pete smiles as bright as magic. “I like you so much.”

Patrick chuckles, watching Pete like he may dissolve into golden light at any moment. He can barely feel his own breaths in his lungs. His heart races, his temperature rises— he’s going to burst with magic, fuck, he knows it. He’s going to overwhelm his magic and blurt out a spell and ruin this. He shuts his eyes, trying to keep his magic in, lips shut to keep from saying any stupid wishes.

And then there’s Pete’s hand cupping his cheek, his thumb over Patrick’s trembling lips. Carefully, Patrick opens his eyes— just in time to see the question in Pete’s own gaze, in time to give a minute nod.

In time to shut his eyes again and let Pete cover his mouth with his own, calming all thoughts better than any breathing exercise could.

Patrick’s heart eases. He sighs and pulls Pete closer.

“We have so many Valentine’s Days to make up for,” Pete says when he and Patrick finally manage to pull apart.

Patrick smiles and nods, eager to lean in and kiss Pete again. 

“I can do that, you know.” He holds onto Pete’s hand. “I can make every day Valentine’s Day if you want.”

Patrick feels his body warm, his blood burn. This time, though, it’s not because of magic or wishes made without his knowing.

It’s because of Pete’s eyes on him— Pete’s small smile and his little laugh.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m sure we can do that together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely unedited, I'm sorry. Trying to get this done and in before going into a meeting haha.
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think! And, as always, come talk to me on tumblr! hum-my-name :)


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